Nothing lost in the translation at Riccarton

THERE isn't often a quiet news day involving Hearts, but rarely one as explosive as yesterday's unscripted developments. When sportswriters gathered at the club's Riccarton training complex on the outskirts of Edinburgh, a routine press briefing should have represented excitement enough. After all, it was to be the first time we were to hear from Eduard Malofeev, the club's caretaker manager who was appointed on Monday and his since kept his own counsel. Which was perhaps no surprise, because we are led to believe he does not speak English.

No one among the assembled journalists raised an eyebrow as one of the club's media representatives revealed Steven Pressley would shortly speak to the daily newspapers. After all, in troubled times, the seasoned club captain is regarded as a particularly safe pair of hands and has grown accustomed to providing a calming influence in times of apparent turmoil.

The first sign that this was to be no ordinary chin-wag about the merits of Malofeev or the players' own desire to get the season back on course against Dunfermline after last week's troubling defeat by Kilmarnock, came when the unfailingly helpful Pressley intimated he would not be speaking separately to the written press and the electronic media.

Clare Cowan, Hearts' press officer, is no stranger to crisis management, but even she looked as if a ghost had just walked into the press room when not only Pressley settled in front of the microphones and tape-recorders but Paul Hartley and Craig Gordon, with arms folded, sat on either side of him like mute guards.

Hartley was clean shaven, which was startling enough, but the look on his face - and that of Gordon - hinted at what was to follow. Arms were crossed, and there was not a flicker of a smile. The body language would not have been out of place at a particularly uncomfortable disciplinary hearing.

There weren't three seats for the players and this reporter guessed something unusual was afoot when a request was made for the chair I'd been sitting on.

"Chaps," said Pressley, who was wearing a black beanie hat, "this is just to make you aware I'm going to make a statement but will answer no questions. It will be purely a statement, okay?"

In a measured, assured tone, Pressley's words on behalf of a group of disillusioned players then lit the blue touchpaper. Journalists instantly know the difference between acceptable copy which fills a space and a big story. This was the real deal, disclosure of an unprecedented player revolt. In an age when the management of news has become a black art, there wasn't a jaw in that room which didn't touch the floor.

The message was delivered with typical dignity, and left no one in any doubt about the players' feelings. No need for a translator on this occasion.

Taken from the Scotsman